


You could have saved him

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-HEA (Don't say I didn't warn you), Platonic Relationship, Theo's p.o.v
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: All Theo wanted to do was save Draco Malfoy. But would he succeed?
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13
Collections: New Year New Mood board





	You could have saved him

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my entry for New Year, New Moodboard! The prompt I chose inspired a Theo/Draco themed story, told from Theo's P.o.V. I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> As the tags indicate, this story does not have a happy ending, so prepare the tissues! 
> 
> Thanks to PotionChemist for her alpha/beta work! Any remaining errors are my own.

**_May, 1987_ **

“Come on, Theo! Let’s fly higher!”

“I don’t know, Draco… What if we fall?”

“Don’t be a sissy! How will we become professional Quidditch players if we don’t practice?”

Theo sighed and shook his head as his friend circled higher and higher, a Quaffle under his arm. He wasn’t really a fan of flying, truth be told, but Draco Malfoy was his only real friend and he didn’t want to risk displeasing him. The boy was quick to sulk and could be a bit cruel when he didn’t get his way, but most of the time he was kind and generous.

Kicking off the ground, he shot into the air after Draco, who laughed and cheered him on. As he neared, Draco threw the Quaffle and Theo lunged to catch it, very nearly tumbling from his broom in the process. But he steadied himself, came around again and threw it back.

The two boys passed the time tossing it back and forth, their passes becoming wilder and wilder as they competed with each other to make the other miss. Theo drew his arm back, feeling the Quaffle resting perfectly in the hollow between his palm and the base of his wrist. Flicking his arm forward, he flung the instrument towards Draco. It sped towards him and sailed right over his head. Theo whooped in delight; he had done it! He had made Draco miss! He had—

_Crash._

The Quaffle had gone through a window of one of Narcissa’s glasshouses. The boys flew down to the ground to inspect the damage. It was quite bad. In addition to the broken glass, a number of pots had been struck and overturned, falling from their shelves. They were lying in pieces on the ground, dirt scattered everywhere.

“Shit! I’m sorry, Draco,” Theo started to apologise.

“It was an accident,” Draco tried to reassure him.

Still, Theo felt a twinge of fear. Lucius Malfoy surely would have heard the noise. He was a short-tempered and intimidating impatient man. He would surely be angry when he discovered what had happened.

Sure enough, they heard the man’s shout from outside, and both boys jumped guiltily, hurrying out of the greenhouse. Lucius was striding towards them, his features twisted in displeasure, his long blond hair streaming out behind him.

“Draco! What have you done now?” 

“Sir, it was my—” Theo started to stammer, but Draco moved in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Father. I threw the Quaffle too hard and it went through Mother’s greenhouse,” the blond boy explained.

“How many times have I told you not to be so careless?” Lucius snapped.

“I don’t know, Father.” Draco looked down at his feet.

“Too many times! I think you need a little reminder.” The blond man drew his cane. “Bend over, boy.”

_Say something!_ A voice inside Theo’s head urged. But his voice had frozen in his throat, and he could only watch as Draco was beaten, wincing at the sound of the cane striking his friend, his screams echoing in his head.

Afterwards, as he comforted his weeping friend, Theo cursed his cowardice. If only he had spoken up, Draco might not have been punished so harshly.

_You could have saved him,_ he thought.

**_December, 1990_ **

The first term at Hogwarts had been a difficult one. Draco and Theo had both been sorted into Slytherin, which had pleased their families, but Draco had been shunned by the famous Harry Potter in favour of the Weasleys, blood traitors.

To make matters worse, a muggleborn named Hermione Granger was ahead of Draco in all their classes. Lucius had not yet seen the report card, which was exemplary, but Theo knew there was no way Draco would be able to hide the fact he was being beaten by a Mudblood.

All in all, it had not been a promising start to Draco’s Hogwarts career, in his father’s opinion. Even Theo’s presence at the dinner table wasn’t enough to curb Lucius’ foul temper as he harshly berated his son on the first night of the Christmas hols.

“Why aren’t you _trying_ , Draco? You are a Malfoy! Malfoys do not have their offers of friendship rejected! Have I taught you _nothing_ about how to make connections? You come in with subtlety, find something they want, and offer it! You don’t immediately alienate them by insulting someone else!”

“But Father, he was only a _Weasley_ —!”

“I don’t care who it was!” Lucius shouted. “You need to _pretend,_ Draco! Pretend to extend the hand of friendship to all until you can push the undesirables out strategically!”

“Yes, Father. Sorry, Father,” Draco said quietly, looking down at his plate.

After dinner, Theo and Draco were playing a game of Wizarding Chess in his room. “Can’t you just lie and say you’re top of the class?” he suggested.

“That would never work. Father can always tell when I’m not telling the truth,” Draco sighed. “Besides, he would just ask Severus. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t asked already.”

They played on in silence. Draco’s knight had just taken Theo’s bishop when a house-elf appeared in the room.

“Master requires the young master’s presence in his study,” the elf informed him.

Draco let out a shaky breath and picked up the report card. The neat row of _O_ ’s was of scant comfort, given his overall score was several points lower than Granger’s.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Theo asked hesitantly.

“It’s probably best you don’t,” Draco sighed. “This won’t be pleasant.”

Theo watched as his friend walked slowly from the room. Some time later he returned, limping. A house-elf arrived with a bottle of dittany to heal the bruising. He couldn’t help feeling guilty — surely he could have done something, said something.

_You could have saved him,_ he told himself.  
  


**_1991 - 1995_ **

The next few years followed the same pattern. At the end of almost every term, Granger was either slightly ahead of or drawing even with Draco in all of their classes. And every time the end-of-term results did not fall in Draco’s favour, he was beaten and berated by his father. 

As time went on, the beatings became worse.

Theo wasn’t always there to witness the incidents, but he heard about them from his friend. They always went the same way.

“What in Merlin’s name is _wrong_ with you, Draco? Are you completely dense or just lazy? How can you insult our family name so badly by continuing to allow yourself to be beaten by a _Mudblood?_ ”

Draco had no answer to that question, and neither did Theo, but the result was always a beating. The constant abuse was making the boy bitter and twisted, especially when it came to Granger. He blamed the girl for his predicament and would constantly rant about her to Theo .

“She must be cheating somehow, Theo! She _must!_ Father wrote to Dumbledore, insisting he open an investigation, but the old coot refused! He had the audacity to tell Father the Mudblood is the Brightest Witch of Our Age! Can you believe it?”

Theo shook his head, afraid to say anything. Draco’s rages were constant, and he would take his anguish and pain out on anyone who displeased him in any way.

Theo wondered numerous times if he could try to convince his friend to stay at the castle over the term breaks to avoid his father’s wrath, but he knew Draco would just turn on him — accuse Theo of being disloyal to his family name, to disrespecting their elders, to not living up to the behaviour and values expected of a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. 

_You could save him,_ he would think. _Maybe his life could be different. Better._

But in the end, Theo would always stay silent.

  
**_July 1995_ **

“So. He’s back. The Dark Lord is back.” 

Theo sighed heavily. His own father had been very pleased that his master had returned, especially after it was determined the Death Eaters would not be punished for failing to search for the dark wizard. Like almost everyone else, Lucius Malfoy included, Theo’s father had believed Voldemort to have perished and had no idea he had survived.

“How, Draco? How did it happen?” Theo continued, fearfully. 

He, unlike his father, had no real issue with half-bloods, muggleborns. or anyone who didn’t support Voldemort. Nott Senior was a harsh, cruel man. He ultimately cared nothing for Theo and barely acknowledged his son’s presence at all, except for the occasional beating or _Crucio_ when the man was feeling particularly violent. He had been told nothing about the night Voldemort returned.

“It was some sort of dark magic,” Draco explained. “Father didn’t tell me everything, but it was something to do with Potter and the remains of the Dark Lord’s father. Wormtail brewed a potion, and the Dark Lord was reborn from it.”

Both boys were silent, contemplating what this new development meant for them and for the wizarding world.

It was the first time Theo considered running away and trying to convince Draco to join him. They could leave all this behind, raid their vaults, start new lives somewhere beyond the megalomaniac’s reach — but he didn’t even have the courage to leave himself, let alone try and get Draco to go with him.

Still, late at night, when he lay awake, he would think, _You could still save him. You could save yourself, too._

**_February 1996_ **

“Come on, Theo. Won’t you join?” Draco urged.

“Yeah, Theo. Where’s your sense of pride?” Greg added gruffly.

Vincent merely grunted in agreement, his mouth full of cake he’d swiped from the kitchens.

Umbridge had just formed the Inquisitorial Squad and was recruiting members — namely Slytherins — to inform on other students and help her control the goings-on in the school.

After it had been discovered that Potter and many other students had been secretly training in practical Defense Against the Dark Arts, the hideously pink, toad-like woman had decided she needed help to keep the castle’s inhabitants under her thumb.

Now, Theo was being pressured to join Draco, Pansy, Greg, Vincent and several other housemates as members of Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad, and he most definitely did _not_ want to do that.

He was becoming increasingly uneasy with the state of things both within Hogwarts and the Ministry, the latter still vehemently denying He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, despite Potter’s eyewitness testimony and Dumbledore’s support.

“I—I’ll consider it,” Theo muttered. “Excuse me. I need to go and finish my homework.”

He exited the common room where they had all been sitting and hurried up to the fifth year’s dormitory, wanting to be alone.

Later, when Draco came in, thankfully without his two goons in tow, Theo took a deep breath before locking the door and casting a Silencing Charm.

“Drake, listen to me, mate,” he said, desperately. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this whole Inquisitorial Squad thing. Maybe it would be best to just stay out of it.”

“Are you kidding?” Draco sneered, looking at Theo as if he was dense. “This is my chance to prove myself to Father! To prove I’m worthy of the Malfoy name! There’s no way I can refuse!”

“Of course you can refuse, mate,” Theo argued softly. “It’s just a stupid squad of tattletales run by a despotic old bitch. It’s not anything worth aligning yourself with.”

“It is if I can finally earn his approval!” Draco countered angrily. “And besides, if I don’t commit now, _he_ will ask questions, and then things will be even worse! Father’s on thin ice as it is!”

Theo didn’t have to ask who _he_ was. Still, he knew he should keep trying to convince Draco to stay away from the whole mess. He opened his mouth to speak, and Draco said viciously, “Don’t say anything, Theo. My mind’s made up. If you’re truly my friend, let it be.”

Theo nodded mutely and unlocked the door. Draco strode from the room without another word. As he watched his friend go, Theo thought to himself, _You should have tried harder. You can still save him._  
  


**_August 1996_ **

Draco was looking paler than usual these days, Theo noted. After the debacle at the Department of Mysteries in June, where Potter and his friends had managed to destroy the Prophecy and escape, Lucius and the other Death Eaters who had been present were in disgrace. By extension, so were their families.

The Dark Lord himself, in desperation and anger, had shown up at the Ministry to fight, and Potter had gotten away again, thanks to Dumbledore showing up in the nick of time. As a further consequence, the Minister himself had seen the Dark Lord and was no longer able to deny he had returned. Meanwhile, all the Death Eaters except for Bellatrix Lestrange had been arrested.

Now they were all in the shit, and Theo was terrified of what might happen to him now that his father was incarcerated. He decided they must try to escape.

He asked Draco around to Nott Manor, knowing the Dark Lord was now residing in the Malfoy home. When his friend arrived, looking even worse for wear than usual, Theo immediately recognised that he had been tortured.

The lingering signs of recently being subjected to the _Cruciatus_ Curse were all there. Twitching limbs, a stiff walk, facial features twisted into a grimace.

“I’ve got something for that.” Theo summoned a small bottle and handed it to Draco. “It helps with the after-effects of a _Crucio,_ ” he explained.

“Thanks.” Draco nodded and drank it quickly, making a face at the bitter taste. However, the twitching soon ceased and the blond boy’s face and body relaxed.

“Draco. Leave here with me. Tonight.”

Draco looked anguished, an expression passing over his face that Theo couldn’t immediately identify. He watched as his friend struggled momentarily before a mask slipped into place.

“I can’t, Theo. You know that,” Draco replied quietly.

“You _can!_ ” Theo tried. “You’re not one of them, we can get away if—”

Theo’s words caused a crack in his friend’s blank exterior. “There’s no escape for me, Theo!” he screamed. 

His features seemed to melt into an expression of despair, but only for a moment, and Theo felt a flutter of deep foreboding in his stomach as the mask returned to Draco's features.

“I have to do what’s right for my family,” he stated, finality in his voice. He turned towards Theo’s Floo. “I’m going back to school when the train departs next week. I hope to see you on it.”

Once again, Theo wanted to argue, but he found himself frozen to the spot, watching with quiet helplessness as Draco picked up the Floo powder, called out his destination, and disappeared into the flames.

As the fire died down once again, the same cursed thought ran through his head. _You should have stopped him. You can still save him._

**_February 1997_ **

Theo listened from his bed as the sounds of Draco vomiting in the bathroom floated back to the dormitory. The other boys were asleep, but Theo had been lying awake and restless, as he did most nights. He continued to worry about his friend, who had become increasingly withdrawn and pale since the beginning of the year.

Draco had been neglecting his Prefect duties, was falling behind on his schoolwork, barely ate, barely slept. He had lost a lot of weight and often disappeared for hours at a time. Theo had followed him once, and watched his friend pace back and forth in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy before quickly entering the Room of Requirement.

Several times, Theo had attempted to approach Draco, determined to force him to share whatever was burdening him so completely. However, every time he tried, Draco would round on him with a silent snarl and an order to leave him be. Each time, Theo’s determination would curdle inside his belly like sour milk, and afterwards he would curse his lack of resolve.

Whatever silent burden he was carrying, it was causing Draco a great deal of distress, and the bouts of vomiting were becoming increasingly commonplace. Theo was fearful that his childhood friend had been given some sort of task by the Dark Lord, and he was almost certain that Draco had taken the Mark.

Theo had noticed Draco always kept his sleeves down now, where previously he would often roll the cuffs up to leave his wrists free — particularly in Potions class. Additionally, he was constantly rubbing his left forearm, as if it was causing him discomfort. Before his own father had been sent to Azkaban, Theo had sometimes observed him rubbing his own Mark in such a way.

Finally, Theo heard the toilet flush from the bathroom, followed by Draco returning to his bed. He sat up, intending to confront his friend, but by the time he rose and pulled back his hangings, Draco’s own curtains were pulled tight around his bed. He considered trying anyway, then decided against it. He didn’t want to risk waking the others.

Pulling the covers up to his chin, Theo rolled over with a sigh, regretting not having done something much sooner.

_You could still save him,_ he reminded himself.

**_July 1997_ **

Theo’s fears had been confirmed. His friend had taken the Mark. It was all over the school in the wake of Death Eaters invading the castle and Dumbledore’s death — and had Draco _really_ killed the old man? He could scarcely believe it.

Truth be told, he _didn’t_ believe it. Theo just couldn’t picture Draco actually murdering anyone, not even his most hated rival, Potter — and this even after Potter nearly killed Draco with a slashing curse in May.

The attack, in the girls’ bathroom Moaning Myrtle frequented, had shaken Draco to his core and increased his desperation tenfold. It had spurred him on to dedicate even more time to his secret task, which Theo now knew to have been repairing an old Vanishing Cabinet in order to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

Draco had retreated back through the cabinet with the Death Eaters as they were beaten back by the Professors and Order Members, and was presumably back at Malfoy Manor, which remained the Dark Lord’s stronghold.

Now, Theo was beginning to think he had been too late, too slow. _I should have done something sooner!_ He berated himself as he sat alone in Nott Manor, a bottle of Firewhiskey and a tumbler beside him. _I should have gone to Dumbledore, to McGonagall — someone who might have been able to help him!_

But now Dumbledore was dead, the school was in disarray, the Ministry was controlled by the Dark Lord’s people and they were all about to be dragged into this war, kicking and screaming.

_You could have saved him,_ Theo thought again. He refilled his glass and continued to stare out into the night.

**_June 1998_ **

Theo surveyed the wreckage of the castle and grounds with a dispassionate eye.

The battle of Hogwarts was over, the Dark Lord — _Voldemort_ — defeated, but the carnage from that final conflict remained everywhere he turned.

Mass funerals for the dead were being held, Aurors were tracking down fugitive Death Eaters and those who had otherwise supported the dark wizard, the Ministry was attempting to bring order back to its ranks, and those who could were attempting to restore the school to its former state.

Having remained neutral throughout the war, even when his father had been broken out of Azkaban, and with that same man now incarcerated once again and facing the Kiss, Theo now felt a sense of duty to turn a hand to the rebuild. So, he had volunteered to donate his time and a generous portion of the Nott fortune to the project.

It kept his mind busy, which he was thankful for. Theo had elected to stay permanently at the castle rather than return to his childhood home. He craved company around him, as his head filled up with voices the moment he was alone. Staying inside one of the dormitories with other students who were helping with the rebuild, he was able to mostly block those voices out with conversation and companionship. 

At night, he would take Dreamless Sleep in order to stop the voices from finding him in the depths of his nightmares. He had forgotten to take it only once, and once was enough. The screams, the blood, the explosions, the people dying all around him. And worst of all, Draco staring at him accusingly from a jail cell, berating him. _Why didn’t you do more, Theo? You could have saved me. Some friend you are._

Draco was indeed in Azkaban, along with Lucius, his trial scheduled for August. Theo was acting as a witness, as were McGonagall, several Order members and, most surprisingly, Potter and Granger.

Blatch, the man acting as Draco’s counsel, seemed quite confident the young wizard would be acquitted. Worst case scenario, the man assured Theo, Draco would spend a short time in the Wizarding prison before being released under a probationary period.

“Young Mr Malfoy was underage when all this happened,” Blatch explained. “The Wizengamot _must_ take this into account, along with the fact he was coerced. He did not carry out any of these deeds willingly or with malicious intent, unlike the other accused.”

Still, Theo felt incredible guilt knowing that if he had just tried a little harder to convince Draco to escape, or if he had just confided in someone with the means to intervene, such as Dumbledore, his friend would not be currently rotting in a stinking cell, charged with grave crimes.

Until the trial, Theo needed to keep his hands and his mind occupied, hence the work at the school. It was only in fleeting moments — when there was a transition from one routine to another, and before the Dreamless Sleep potion took effect at night — that the taunting voice would return to mock him. 

_You could have saved him._

**_August 1997_ **

The babble of voices faded into the background as Theo slumped back in his chair, disbelieving. Despite his testimony, and that of others, despite the compelling arguments Blatch had put forward in Draco’s favour, the Winzengamot had handed down a verdict of guilty. 

His sentence: the Dementor’s Kiss.

Later, Theo went to the prison and demanded a visit, paying the guards an exorbitant amount to allow it.

When Draco was dragged roughly into the interview room, Theo was shocked by his appearance. In the courtroom, although dirty, defeated, painfully thin and in chains, he had held together an air of quiet dignity despite his state and the charges he was facing.

Now, however, Theo could tell his friend had utterly given up. Despair oozed from his pores as Draco staggered into the room, his wrists and ankles bound, and slumped into the hard chair. Up close, Theo could see that Draco was not just thin but emaciated. His once sharp, handsome features were marred with acne, sores and age beyond his years. The grey prison robes hung off his frame, and he shivered as a draught blew through the room.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Theo whispered. His heart clenched in pain to see his friend so broken.

“Sorry for what?” Draco asked listlessly, looking at his hands.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do more,” Theo continued, his voice cracking. “There were so many times I could have saved—”

“Stop, Theo,” Draco commanded, lifting his head at last. His grey eyes were dull, his expression resigned. “Stop trying to save me. You can’t. What’s done is done.”

“But—”

“It’s not your duty to save me,” Draco continued, his voice harsh. “It never was. I made my choices, not you. I need to take responsibility, even if that means the Kiss.”

“But it’s just not fair!” Theo burst out, slamming his fist on the scratched table between them. “It’s not fair, goddamn it!” 

A sob burst forth from his chest before he could contain it, and he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself.

“Theo,” Draco said quietly.

Theo just shook his head, hands still pressed to his eyes.

“ _Theo,_ ” Draco repeated.

Reluctantly, Theo removed his hands and looked at his friend. He was ashamed to gaze at the boy across from him, knowing despite Draco’s assurances to the contrary that he could have done more.

“You’ve been a good friend to me,” Draco stated, his voice soft now with longing and regret. “I only wish I’d valued you more, and for this I must apologise to you. You’re one of the few people who stood by me through everything. Thank you.”

The guard banged on the door, interrupting. “Time’s up, Death Eater!” he called from the corridor. Moments later, he was in the room, striding across to where Draco was seated and hauling him to his feet.

“Wait!” Theo cried desperately. “Just one moment more — please!”

The guard paused and looked at him with flat, uncaring eyes. Theo reached into his robe pocket and retrieved his money bag, shaking it. “I’ll give you five Galleons for a moment more,'' he pleaded. 

“Ten,” the guard countered, after a moment’s consideration.

“Done.” Theo opened his money bag and counted the coins into the guard’s palm. He pocketed them with a nod and a grunt of thanks.

Theo stood in front of his friend, looking into his eyes, drinking in his face. “I’ll be there for you at the end,” he said, his voice cracking once again.

“I’d like that,” Draco replied, his eyes suddenly full of unshed tears.

Theo embraced Draco tightly, offering what little human comfort he could while the boy before him was bound in chains, and placed a familial kiss on his stubbled cheek.

“Goodbye, Draco,” he whispered.

“Goodbye, Theo.”

The guard yanked on Draco’s arm, pulling him from the room. Theo thought he saw a flash of sympathy in the man’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. Alone now in the room, Theo dropped to the floor and sobbed, his grief overwhelming him. 

“I could have saved him,” he cried.

**_November 1997_ **

Theo walked down the corridor, his steps and heart heavy. Today was the day Draco’s short, difficult and largely joyless life would end.

The one merciful thing was that the Wizengamot had elected that, rather have those convicted and sentenced to the Kiss languish for an indeterminable time in Azkaban, they would instead have their sentences carried out as early as possible. 

So, a little over two months after the trial, it was time.

Beside him, sobbing quietly, was Narcissa. Lucius had also been sentenced to the Kiss, and his had been administered just two weeks ago. Theo didn’t know how the woman would carry on after losing the two people she loved most in the world. He had promised to be there for her, and she for him. They would mourn, and hopefully learn to live with the emptiness in their lives together.

They were shown into the viewing room, which looked down on the pit where the prisoner would be led. Several other witnesses were there, including a correspondent from the _Prophet._ The young man, who looked to be only a few years out of Hogwarts, approached them for comment, his eyes gleaming with an exuberance that, in Theo’s opinion, bordered on perverse. 

“Mrs Malfoy, Mr Nott, do you have anything to say about Draco’s sentencing?” he asked eagerly, his quill poised above a roll of parchment.

Theo swept the man impatiently aside. “Fuck off. Leave us alone,” he ordered. 

The correspondent retreated, his glare recalcitrant. “ _Wanker_ ,” Theo heard him mutter as he scuttled to the other side of the window. 

_No respect,_ he thought angrily as he placed a comforting arm around Narcissa’s shoulders. _Fucking ravenous Hippogriffs, the lot of them._

A disembodied voice echoed through the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. Prisoner 79846, Draco Malfoy, will now be brought into the chamber. The sentence will be carried out in five minutes.”

A door below opened and Draco was led into the room and his chains were removed. There was no chance of escape — the walls of the pit were smooth and steeply sloped, unclimbable, and there were no cracks or crevices to hide in.

The two guards who had accompanied him quickly left, securing the small door behind them. There was no handle on the pit side, and from the viewing room the outline of it was barely visible.

Everyone watched as Draco paced restlessly around the small space.

_Look up, look up!_ Theo silently begged. _I’m here, just like I promised!_

“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. Sentence will be carried out in one minute,” the voice advised.

Narcissa took Theo’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

What seemed like mere seconds later, two hatches high in the walls opened up and several Dementors floated into the chamber. Despite the thick, impenetrable glass and repelling charms, Theo could feel them. A burdensome weariness flowed over him and his legs trembled as the effort to hold himself upright became almost too much to bear.

Then, finally, Draco looked up. His head whipped from side to side, his face panicked now, as the Dementors circled the pit, descending slowly but surely towards their target. His desperate eyes finally found the window, and widened in recognition as he glanced from Theo to his mother.

A calmness seemed to wash over him then, and he nodded in acknowledgement, mouthing _thank you_ to Theo, and _I love you, Mother_ to Narcissa.

The Dementors had reached him, closing in. Theo watched helplessly, silent tears running down his face, as the soul was sucked from his friend.

Finally, it was done, and Draco’s lifeless body slumped to the ground, all of what he had been erased. The Dementors, satiated, rose to the top of the chamber and exited through the hatches they had entered. The panels clanged shut.

Below, the access door reopened and the same two guards returned to retrieve the husk that had once been Draco Malfoy.

Beside him, Narcissa let out a wail, sliding to the ground and pulling at her long hair. Theo joined her, his chest burning as he sobbed.

All the while, over and over in his head, a litany of voices swirled.

_You could have saved him._

_You could have saved him._

  
  
  
  



End file.
